Holden Caulfield revisited
by santina-corleone
Summary: Picks up from where Holden left off 50 years ago
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 1  
  
Note-I don't own the main character Holden Caulfield, sadly. Also, I'm not an anti-Semetic. I am just trying to tell the story the way Holden would tell it.  
  
I know it's been a while since I told you anything, but not much was happening since I was put in a mental institution over 50 years ago. But since I was released, a lot happened to me that I'd love to tell you about. I better pick up from where I left off. I did eventually go back to school that September, to this goddam military school Dad had threatened to send me to. Of course, like with my other schools, I didn't stay too long because of the usual phonies and crooks. This school, however, was the worst school I ever went to, worse than Elkton Hills even. The guys there were way too macho and had this goddam desire to be a war hero. It was so damn irritating. All they thought about was shooting and killing their enemies. And the teachers were no better, feeding us garbage glorifying the goddam Army. I sometimes wonder what happened to these macho bastards. I do know for sure they didn't come back war heroes from Vietnam. They probably died or came back without their goddam limbs. Those who survived should have been killed because they probably went insane. I know a few people in the institution who served in 'Nam and they are the craziest of all. Thank god I had enough sanity to get out, even though it hurt me physically. Two months after I started school, I was going nuts and was desperate for a way out. Rather than fail all of my classes and wait to get expelled, I decided I wanted out. One day, I snuck into the headmaster's office, and took his gun. Yeah, that's how desperate I was. I didn't care if I took my life, I just wanted out. Then I got into my friend's car and turned in on. I had read somewhere that if you stay in a car with an engine on, you'll die. That was just backup, in case I didn't die from the gunshot wounds. For a while I was contemplating whether to shoot myself in the head or in the stomach. I was scared shooting myself in the head would hurt a lot so, after like 20 minutes sitting in the goddam car, I fired one right into my stomach. I slumped over in the seat and a second shot accidently came out. I don't remember what happened before I passed out, except my friend screaming, sirens and a lot of blood. Unfortunately, I lived. I should have died because I got paralysed from the waist down, that means I can't use my legs. For 4 months I stayed in the hospital, dealing with these annoying nurses and my parents. My mother was so damn soppy, she could have filled my room with her tears. My father was always feeling sorry for himself, asking "Dear lord, what did I do to deserve this?". D.B. asked a lot of stupid questions, and always wrote the answer down on his notebook. The only one who didn't see me at all was Phoebe, and that's whom I wanted to see. D.B. said it was too much for her to bear seeing me in agony. I don't blame her because I did look like a mess. There was this big debate about whether I should be locked up in a mental hospital. This one Jewish doctor finally ended the argument "This boy is a menace to society. No matter how hard you try to shape him into a decent man, it never works. Face it Mr. and Mrs. Caulfield, this boy isn't going to be an Ivy League scholar." Even though my parents never trusted Jews, they took his word and put me in an institution which was my home for most of my life until now. Now I'm free, and I need to do some catching up. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
The mental institution was in a way better than the schools I went to. None of the crazies were phony. Some of them were crooks, sometimes stealing cigarettes and money, which we used in poker games. The nurses were alright too, although the head nurses were sometimes strict and had too many rules. At least it wasn't like in "One flew over the cuckoo's nest", one of the only good movies I've seen. To me, this was paradise, a Garden of Eden. For once in my life, I felt a sense of belonging. The only downside of it all was not seeing my family enough. Not my parents, but D.B. and Phoebe. Dad killed himself a few years after I shot myself, and Mom died after drinking cyanide. Good riddance to them. D.B. never came much since he was so busy whoring himself in Hollywood, and ever since he turned my previous story into a book, I never allowed him to visit me. How could he do that to me? What nerve he had to turn a private story into a goddam cash cow. I had vowed never to forgive me even if he was dying. Let him go to hell for all I care. He should have never gone against me. Great, now I'm acting like Michael Corleone with his brother Fredo. The only visitor I had was Phoebe. God, if there's one thing I regret, it's not being there for her. If I was there, I would have kept her straight. Ever since I got locked up, she started showing tendencies that I had. She also never stayed in school, she started smoking, a habit she had for a long time, and she drank. After Dad died, she ran away because she knew Mom would send her to an institution. For 3 years she wasn't heard from, she never even wrote a letter. Then, all of a sudden, I got a letter. Over those 3 years, she was living in California. She became a writer, got married to this Army officer and had a son, named after Allie, my late brother. She apologized for not writing for a long time and said she was moving to New York since her husband was being transferred. That made me happy and sad. Happy because she was coming back after all those years and sad because she was happy and settled down and therefore didn't need me much. Even so, I always looked forward to her afternoon visits with Allie. She was the only connection I had to the outside world. She and Allie would bring in newspapers, news about family and friends and records. Phoebe got me records by bands with funny names like The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Jefferson Airplane, The Who and a lot of others. They were pretty good too. The news, however was mostly depressing. Soldiers dying in 'Nam, religious wackos in mass suicides, dissenters getting shot in Ohio. And in recent years, Phoebe started looking very ill. Her smoking habit gave her lung cancer so she started Chemotherapy. She lost all of her hair, her face looked very wrinkled and she her voice was husky, like a man. Allie, was the most uplifting thing about the visits. He had red hair just like his late uncle and the face of his mother. He had the chance to stay off the path Phoebe and I took and he didn't end up like a bum. He too became a writer, just like his mother. It was he, who had to break the heartbreaking news. I remember it so vividly. He took me to my room and sat me on my bed and with tears in his eyes said "Uncle Holden, she's dead". I was just shocked, didn't cry for about 10 minutes. Then, tears welled in my eyes and I let out this big sob at the top of my lungs. That night, nurses gave me more sedatives than the rest of the patients but even that didn't work. I couldn't believe it was happening at that moment. My sister, my best friend, my Rock of Gibraltar, taken away like that. It was in that moment of grief that I decided I had enough of this place. I didn't care if I was on wheels, I was going to get out. 


End file.
